


Rings of Red

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Gen, M/M, POV Peter Hale, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Rituals, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: “Performance issues?” Peter offers, smoothing out his shoulders and hiding his claws. "Everyone gets them, I've heard."It’s a lie. Alphas don’t get them. Not like this.Talia's eyes shouldn't be changing from red to gold before his eyes for no reason at all.





	Rings of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by bladesofthevalkyrie.

Peter isn’t privy to the first few times it happens. He can only assume that they’ve occurred by the frustration evident in Talia’s expression. There is no surprise, no shock, no wounded pride. She may not understand why it’s happening, but it’s happened before. Not in company, Peter decides, because otherwise he would’ve already heard the rumors. Peter is very, very good with rumors. Even her husband can’t know, otherwise he would have let on by fretting about it.

The only person who's been fretting is Talia.

And now Peter.

Fuck.

“Performance issues?” Peter offers, smoothing out his shoulders and hiding his claws. With anyone else he argues with—and that is a lot of people, as Peter quite enjoys arguing—he wouldn't have shown proof of them getting to him, but Talia has always been special. Half because what are siblings for if not to piss off, half because she's one of the few people who can take him when it comes to a little  brawl in the study. He and Talia have had at least one a year since Peter was old enough to steal her things. Now, he takes a seat on a leather couch and adds, "Everyone gets them, I've heard." It’s a lie. Alphas don’t get them. Not like this.

Talia doesn't comment on the beat of his heart. She just slumps down on the couch next to him, all the anger chased away by fear.

“When did it start?” Peter asks. He’s not a doctor, but he’ll do his best to diagnose the cause. If this has ever happened to another alpha, then he's never heard of it. And rightly so; no one would ever let it get out that their alpha is having issues with the color of their eyes.

"Months ago," Talia admits.

Peter's gaze had lingered on her claws, but now his gaze flits to her face. "Talia," he says, in the same way he would say _what the fuck_. And then he actually does say it. Because, "What the fuck."

"I know, Peter," she replies, sounding older than she has a right to. He's always chafed at how many years older than him she is, a combination of aunt and mother as well as sister, but this isn't the time. "I thought it was a fluke the first time it happened. It was during battle. I shifted and everything felt wrong, like I was fighting at half my strength. I ignored it. I had to. After a few minutes, it all came back to me. It didn't happen again for two weeks. That time, there was a mirror nearby for me to see my eyes bleed the red into gold. I hadn't seen my eyes that color since before Mom died."

Peter sighs. "How many times in total?"

"Six. Seven, now." She grimaces. "I shift, my eyes stay red for a few minutes, then they turn gold until I shift again. I know. It's a pattern."

"One that isn't going to go away," Peter tells her because apparently he needs to. Fucking hell, Talia's never met a problem she hasn't faced head on. This isn't like her, to ignore it and hope it resolves itself. "Who have you told?"

"No one." At Peter's raised eyebrow, she doubles down. "Honestly, who do you think I would have told? The second I ask one of our allies if they've heard of the alpha power fading while the alpha is still alive, they'll be in our woods."

Peter leans back, rests his head against the back of the couch. He has worked an unofficial second job for Talia ever since she became alpha, maybe even before that, since the makings had always been there between them. Peter's good at fixing problems, whether it's mending dolls' dresses or burying bodies. Very good. Good enough to know when to outsource the problem. A vice had wrapped around his chest when he saw Talia's eyes flicker between red and gold. He may not always like Talia, may not get along with her all the time, but she is his alpha. She is his protector, his sister. Peter is no bitten wolf; he was born into this life, has lived with these instincts since he first drew breath, born in the preserve as every Hale has for generations, ever since the family settled in these lands in search of a place untouched by hunters. Instinct is in his blood and bones, and everything he is sounds an alarm.

"Deaton may be able to help," Peter offers, lip curling slightly. "As much as I don't like him, he does know a lot about magic. It might be some kind of curse or disease." That's the best case scenario. The worst—that the alpha spark itself is corrupted and fading—doesn't bear thinking of. The Hale spark has been in their family since before they were Hales, before they came to the Americas, before everything. This is just a hiccup in the spark's long journey.

"I considered him, but..." She shakes her head. It's not a no, it's just a wordless comment on the situation. "I haven't been able to trust anyone with this."

"As much as I wish I did, I don't have the answer to this one." He's never liked the druid, who rarely volunteers information except in times of dire straits. Talia had thought giving him the largely ceremonial position of emissary would help, and claims it has, but Peter doubts it. "Do you trust him enough to tell him?"

Talia nods, hesitates. "Do you?"

"Not a chance. We'll tell him anyway."

He can only hope it won't be the wrong choice. Deaton is tight-lipped, but he isn't traitorous. He knows he won't live long if he betrays the Hale pack's trust. Peter will just have to make sure he's extra clear on that fact before either of them say anything. He sets up a meeting in two days’ time and in the meantime, he watches Talia carefully. She doesn't seem any different to his eyes. Her energy levels are fine even with three kids getting in her way and another in her belly. He wonders for a moment if it's some kind of pregnancy side effect, then sets the idea aside. He's been around for two of her pregnancies. Neither have been anything like this. Besides, Talia is barely more than a month pregnant and the issues started happening long before the pregnancy took. He's grasping at straws, searching for an answer, knowing that Talia has already gone through this process. He follows her long-faded footsteps through the study and traces new ones, searching in books and websites Talia may not have considered. There is nothing.

When they arrive on Deaton's doorstep, their faces grave, their emissary doesn't bother striking up a conversation before asking, "What's wrong, Talia? Peter?"

In the quiet of Deaton's office, Talia explains the situation. Only the two of them have come today, though Talia filled her husband in on the situation the night before. Joseph is taking the kids out for a movie, something light that even Derek might enjoy. If all goes well, they'll have a solution by the end of the night. If it doesn't... Peter has other contacts, ones who respect or fear him enough to keep quiet, but every secret has a price. As Talia speaks, Deaton grows thoughtful. Peter doesn't spare a glace for his sister, watching Deaton watch them. His metaphorical hackles are up. No wolf enjoys being seen as weak.

"The Hales have always been a powerful pack," Deaton muses, stroking his chin. "Have you ever wondered why that is? It's rare that a pack grows so large and still stays stable, encompassing pack members who live across the country with only a yearly gathering needed to renew your pack bonds? Many of your adult pack members are able to attain a full wolf's shift, not only your alpha, and on average you have better control of your shift than other werewolves."

At this, Peter shares a glance with Talia. He hadn't realized her conversations with Deaton had been so revealing. Or had their emissary picked up on these things on his own? The Hales aren’t fond of flaunting their power, but it’s true. They are a powerful pack.

There's a warning note to her voice as she says, "No. I hadn't."

"It's my belief that your pack is so powerful is precisely because of your alpha spark. Everything you and your ancestors have accomplished in the past has added to the spark's capabilities. Even if you do not actively draw on its power, it has always been there, strengthening the bonds, honing your instincts, even teaching you the full shift in its own way. Tell me, has your grip on your pack bonds been weaker than normal?"

"I can't tell," Talia says. "Maybe. Everything feels weaker now, even when my eyes are red."

Peter ignores that terrifying aspect in favor of asking, "Are you saying the alpha spark has a mind of its own?"

"Yes and no," Deaton replies. "It's a tool to be used by the alpha, nothing more. But it still retains information and has a sixth sense that the rest of us lack. I believe that it's trying to tell you something."

"That I'm going to lose the spark," Talia says, numbly. Her face pales, her eyes dark and desperate. "No. That we're going to lose the spark. The Hales, all of us."

Deaton nods. "I think that's precisely what it is. Sometime in the future—I can't give you an exact estimate—the alpha spark will either die or become separated from the Hale line."

"What can we do about it?" Peter asks. This isn't an enemy he can reach with a silver tongue or claws to the back. Peter's arsenal is frustratingly limited against the morass of the future. "If you know this much, then you must have something."

"I've only read of this situation," Deaton cautions, then begins to explain. "If the spark is to die, then there is nothing even I can do. But if it's still alive in the future, there is a ritual we can perform to seek guidance from whoever possesses the spark. In this account, the wielder was able to make a bargain between the past and the present, and the spark returned to the pack. Let's see if we can repeat history."

A week later, the Hale pack stands in the middle of a large clearing in the preserve as Deaton creates a circle out of white ash. It's not mountain ash, Peter knows by the color, but he steps in and out of the circle to make sure he can walk freely. It's too tense of a situation for him to accept being caged. They're all here, youngest Hale to oldest, from those who live in town to Aunt Midge from Finland, and on Deaton's request they take their spots just outside the lines of the circle. The ritual hadn't demanded a particular time of the month, which Peter finds strange for a ritual involving werewolves, but it is convenient. The faster they obtain their information, the faster he and Talia can get back to sniping with each other instead of having to work so closely together. Peter hasn't been by his apartment in days. It's a travesty, having a large family that one is forced to care about. He hasn't seen so many Hales since the last family reunion, and even then, it hadn't been such a somber occasion. Even the children are quiet. They don't completely understand what's going on, but they've picked up on the fear in the air.

It's hard enough wrangling everyone to visit enough to renew their pack bonds, but the second Talia tells them their pack is in danger of losing its spark, they're here. All of them. Whatever other responsibilities they have, they've been shelved and ignored. Feuds within the family, old histories, relationship drama, none of it matters when their whole way of life is at stake. If Peter were the type to be sentimental, it would be heartwarming. But the pack house is overflowing with stressed people who he's related to but can't say he enjoys the presence of, so it's not quite heartwarming. Peter will be the first to jump for joy when this is all over.

“What happens now?” Talia asks when everyone has settled into their assigned places and Deaton has finished an odd, melodious chant.

“You walk to the middle,” Deaton say from behind her. As an emissary, he's not a proper member of the pack, and doesn't have a place in the circle.

“That’s all?” someone asks from Peter's right.

His expression is almost wry. “That’s all. Only the person closest to the future alpha will be able to call to them.”

It becomes evident in moments what Deaton means. Most of the family isn't able to enter the white ash circle, kept out as easily as though it truly were mountain ash. Talia seems to wedge herself inside by sheer force of will, her eyes flickering between red and gold. Derek and Cora have it easier. Cora manages a meter or so, Derek double that. Peter bypasses them all, step by step, with no hesitance or pushback from the ritual. It's something, this. Peter's always known he was a survivor, but had he really stood aside and watched as someone took away the Hale alpha spark? Had he been so close to this future alpha, so meek, that it's come to this? Why hadn't he tried to take away the spark?

The diameter of the circle is around ten meters. Peter holds his head high as his pack watches him walk to the center. If they say anything, he can't hear it. At the center of the circle, a mist begins to form, growing denser the closer Peter gets. Before his eyes, it arranges into the shape of a person: a young man, tall, his hair shorn nearly to the scalp, a circular scar stretching from his right cheek to his ear. The mist becomes so fine and detailed that Peter can see the rips in his jeans and the pattern of his flannel shirt. The young man exists in shades of gray, but Peter can almost see the red of his eyes.

"Peter," the young man greets. His smile is genuine, but there's something knowing in it. A dash of mischief. "Are you meddling with magic?" He doesn't wait to hear Peter's answer, instead walking around Peter and whistling. "Look at you, I've missed the hell out of you. You're so young! How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Peter replies, crossing his arms. He doesn't mean to be cross, but he's just about had it with this situation. There is an attractive man in front of him who has somehow missed him and an alpha behind him and an irritating, judging family all around them. "You hardly look old yourself."

"I'm not. Twenty-two. Good thing, too, it would have been weird being older than you. Some things just aren't right." The young alpha shakes his head dramatically, then glances around. "Oh, man, a party? You shouldn't have."

"You're the belle of the ball," Peter tells him. "Want to guess why you're here?"

The young alpha huffs, his lips curling up in almost a smile. "Three guesses, first two don't count? My name is Stiles, by the way."

"Stiles," Peter repeats. "What kind of name is Stiles?"

Stiles seems too entertained to be offended. "My name. It's a cool name. All the cool kids are named Stiles in the future." He doesn't look like he's lying, but he has to be. Humanity can't have completely lost its taste. Stiles, honestly. There is no heartbeat to analyze, only Stiles' open, amused expression. He knows exactly what Peter's doing. It's irritating. (It's exhilarating.) "You want information."

"We want the Hale alpha spark," Talia calls out. She can't seem to press any further, but she's within the circle. Peter can see people outside the circle talking, but he can't hear them at all. "You have no right to it. It belongs to our family."

Stiles turns in her direction, his expression so blank that for a millisecond Peter second-guesses that he can even see her at all. Stiles raises an eyebrow as he takes in Talia's disposition. "I don't disagree."

Peter fights the urge to frown as he realizes that Stiles had assumed something else entirely. Information, Stiles said, information. Somehow, he gets the feeling that they're supposed to be looking for something else.

When he looks back, Talia seems taken off guard, and all the more cautious for it. "So you'll give the alpha spark to a Hale in your future?"

Stiles' hands are scarred, Peter notices as Stiles scratches his cheek. They resemble burn marks, but there's a pattern to them that Peter can't make out without being able to look closer. Almost a non sequitur, Stiles says, "I've never met you." His tone is plain, not unkind. There is no accusation there. "I've heard stories about you, but that's it. Derek said you were a great mom and alpha." He turns to Derek next, proclaiming, "You'll grow into your ears eventually, don't worry."

"I wasn't worried," Derek tells him with a scowl. His heartbeat calls out his lie, but Stiles seems to know him well enough to not need it.

Stiles looks at him for one long moment, then says, "There wasn't enough of you left for a funeral."

It feels cold, suddenly. Or maybe that's just Peter. He watches Stiles' expression turn light again, thinks it's both real and not, and wonders about the person deep inside.

“Hello, Cora,” Stiles says, crouching down to reach her level. “You’re such a cute kid.”

“I’m not cute.” She scowls, copying Derek. It’s her favorite pastime.

“Fierce?”

“Maybe,” she allows.

Stiles smiles at her, fond and warm. “I watched you die, you know.”

"That's creepy," she tells him. "Like gran?"

Stiles nods. "It really was creepy." When he stands, he spares a look for each of them before turning once again to Peter. Peter, the closest person to the future alpha. Peter, who isn't sure he wants to know, but who will stand here and find out anyway. Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, and simply says, "I've missed you."

Peter's mouth is dry. "I don't know you."

"Yeah, I know." Stiles breathes in deeply, touches his hands together in a steadying gesture. To Talia, he says, "Who does the alpha spark belong to when there aren't any more Hales? Because I didn't want it, I can promise you that, but it's been mine for three years now. I can give you information, pointers, but it's mine, fair and square. The future of your pack will always be me." Stiles tilts his head, eyes pale but challenging. “Or I could come across,” Stiles offers. “I’ll save the lot of you. I’ll even throw in some extra lives, since yours isn’t the only pack that will be wiped out in the coming years. The West Coast becomes an Argent hunting ground of sorts, and what they don’t manage, the Wild Hunt will.”

“And in return, all you want is to keep the alpha spark," Peter huffs.

“Bingo. I want a promise from you that you will accept me as the owner of the spark. All of you," Stiles stresses, eyes set on Talia.

He doesn't seem worried about Peter's claws. Peter wonders if that's because Stiles knows him too well or not well enough. When Peter turns back to see Talia's answer, her jaw is set, her face the tensest he's ever seen. Behind the ash's barrier, their family is yelling. No one other than Peter spares them a glance. Talia ignores Derek and Cora's exclamations, breathes out a loud, rough breath.

"I promised my mother that I would do everything I could to see the pack thrive," Talia says. There's more heartbreak than anger in her voice. "What is another one, compared to that? Living, as opposed to dying?" She nods. "Go ahead." It won't be the last time the subject is brought up, Peter knows her better than that, but for now his alpha bares her throat. The sight of it is enough for Peter to barely perceptibly shudder.

When he looks back, Stiles is already watching him. He reaches out, placing his hand up as though against a mirror at the same height as his head. Peter hesitates to do the same, but no one calls him out on it. There is only silence behind him, as though another barrier has been erected and there is only Stiles and himself in this section of the preserve.

"Who was I to you?" Peter asks as he reaches out in return, stopping just before his fingers would meet Stiles' ghostly hand. He has to know. This close, he can see pinpricks of red in Stiles' eyes, the only color Peter can see through the mist. He wonders where Stiles is right now, if he's in the preserve however many years in the future, or if he's somewhere else entirely.

"You were pack, Peter," Stiles says. He voices Peter's name like it's a favor given, a treat.

The word is too simple for the emotion in his misty eyes, but in a way, it's all that Peter needs to know. Whatever else, he's a survivor, and Stiles evidently will make a place for him in the new Hale pack. Stiles doesn't seem to bear any ill will to the rest of the Hale pack, but Peter will still be there to smooth the way. To be the closest one to the alpha, he realizes, as future and past combine. Stiles' misty hand is less yielding than he expected, his skin rough against Peter's as the mist dissolves, leaving a man in its place. He's more attractive in color than in monochrome. Peter takes that thought and files it somewhere deep inside. This is too much of a mess to even consider it. Stiles is the first to pull his hand away. By the time he does, there is a tug in Peter's chest, the barest thread of a pack bond beginning to form. Before Stiles leaves to greet the rest of the pack, he leans in close, his lips almost touching Peter's ear.

"If you want some leverage against Talia and the alpha spark back in your family, I wouldn't oppose marrying in," Stiles offers, his breath warm against Peter's cheek. "Think about it, huh?"

And Peter's left standing there, watching as Stiles greets Talia and has some loud words with Deaton. Talia certainly heard Stiles' words, he thinks, but not with despair. If this is what the future holds, Peter can't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> (Meanwhile: in Stiles' future, all the cool kids really are named Stiles, because he's stepping out from a world where the Wild Hunt wiped out a huge chunk of humanity. Stiles is a hero of the war against the wild hunt, one of the few alphas even left in the world, and getting pulled into the past isn't even the weirdest thing that's happened to him this year. But it's the best and most exciting, because here is Peter, alive and whole, and Stiles may have missed his chance with one Peter but he won't miss again.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


End file.
